let loose your happiness
by queenforbes
Summary: stiles and lydia and derek / fighting: It's when he sees Derek Hale leaping off the rooftop of a building, back flip into the window of an unsuspecting driver, swipe up a burger and surge out of the opposite window all in the space of a few seconds that Stiles Stilinksi makes his mind up. / Stiles thinks it's high time he learnt to fight.
1. canis meus id comedit

**A/N:** I just finished binge-watching Teen Wolf and wow, was that not a mistake! My eyes may be dying but IT WAS WORTH IT! Stiles and Peter and Lydia are all hilarious. Derek's just awesomely brooding. And I ship Stydia so much it hurts.

Do leave me a review because I had a lot of fun writing this; tell me what you think, please?

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**let loose your happiness**

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canis meus id comedit

_my dog ate it_

—**Stiles Stilinksi** (probably)

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It's when he sees Derek Hale leaping off the rooftop of a building, back flip into the window of an unsuspecting driver, swipe up a burger and surge out of the opposite window all in the space of a few seconds that Stiles Stilinksi makes his mind up.

"You want me to teach you self defence?"

Derek blinks.

Hands scrabbling clumsily to shut the loft door behind him, Stiles explains like it's obvious, "It's not that surprising—now that Beacon Hills is like some super magnet thing, I thought I should brush up on my batting skills, you know? Plus I'm human and you're all supernatural monsters and we can't all have shiny fangs and really dirty fingernails."

"You want me—to teach _you_ self defence?"

Choosing not to comment on Derek's stunned expression or his repetition, Stiles folds his arms and says, "I'm not sure I'm liking that emphasis on the 'you', there, Derek…"

Derek's lip twitches. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Would you help? Please?"

Derek begins to laugh.

"Oh yeah," Stiles grumbles, "you _have_ to learn to laugh now, don't you? Brooding werewolf in your dark shirts that show off your stupid six-pack to those of us who don't have six-packs and your stupid no-humour policy, laughing at my misfortune—,"

Derek continues laughing. "I'll help," he gets out and Stiles looks grateful. "But only because I get to kick your ass and blame it on teaching."

Undeterred, Stiles grins and pulls out the baseball bat he's "borrowed" from Scott's mom, from his bag. "Let's get this party started."

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"Why do I get the feeling you're enjoying this?"

Stiles is slammed against the floor once again—the breath is knocked right out of him yet he still manages to croak out a comment. Derek pulls him up and tries to plaster an innocent smile on his face.

"Me?" he says. "_Enjoying_ kicking your ass? I wouldn't dare!"

"Ha ha," Stiles says dryly. "You're so funny. But sarcasm's my thing—copyrighted and patented, thank you very much. So go back to your usual broody self."

While he's distracted, Derek roars and swipes at him with the fingernails Lydia finds disgusting. Startled, Stiles only just manages to throw himself out of the way, banging his head in the process against Derek's desk and sighs. Derek rolls his eyes.

"What have I told you?"

"Always be aware, O Great Sensei."

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles' sarcastic tone. Their eyes are suddenly drawn to the door when it comes crashing open and displays a fantastic pair of legs paired with a familiar strawberry blonde. Stiles gulps and stands up—he bangs his head again as Derek heaves a sigh.

"Come to watch the show?" the werewolf asks as Lydia Martin enters his loft.

Ruby-red heels tapping the floor in an echoing fashion, Lydia puts her bag down on Derek's desk and says, "I heard you were giving Stiles self-defence lessons."

"That he is," Stiles replies. "We, uh, need to pack some more muscle into this muscle."

Derek scoffs at him before turning to the banshee. "Is something wrong, Lydia?"

"I want to learn, as well," Lydia tells him.

"The more the merrier!" Stiles beams at her. "We can kick ass together."

"No," Derek frowns. "I draw the line at banshees."

"Derek, I only literally just found I'm a banshee and while that was happening, I was getting strung up by your psycho girlfriend," Lydia says fiercely. "Not to mention the fact that your psycho uncle mind-whammied me into raising him up from the dead. I _want_ self-defence lessons."

Stiles nods to Derek. "Got a lot of psychos in there."

Sighing again—he's doing a lot of that, these days—Derek wonders when his life became overthrown by self-righteous teenagers obsessed with saving the world. "Fine. But no screaming."

A smile spreading across her features, Lydia nods as Stiles glances to her. "I think that was meant to be a Derek joke," he tells her as Derek's annoyance increases.

"A Derek joke?"

"Yeah—they're special because nobody laughs at those."

Lydia snickers.

Suddenly sent surging through the floor and into the desk by another one of Derek's swipes, Stiles groans. He tries to stand up—and promptly bangs his head again on stupid Derek's stupid desk.

_"Ow."_

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**to be continued**


	2. non plaudit modo pecuniam jacite

**A/N:** So I had even more fun writing this up.

I hope you enjoy this and the new episode!

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non plaudit. modo pecuniam jacite

_don't applaud. just throw money_

—**Lydia Martin** (probably)

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In just five weeks, there has been a grand total of:

147 jokes about Derek and his brooding man-pain.

122 jokes made by Stiles.

119 jokes made by Lydia.

127 jokes made by Stiles and Lydia.

70 times when Stiles picked up Lydia and dropped her off.

36 times when the pizza guy had to switch jobs because of Derek and his intimidating stare.

24 times when Stiles hit his head on something (including the desk).

19 comments on the unnecessary desk.

8 times when Lydia vowed she'd scour the place with disinfectant.

And 43 times when Derek wondered what he was still doing on Earth.

It's been a funny five weeks.

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"So I heard you'd started a Fight Club."

Peter Hale smiles at them from the loft door as Derek mutters, "Great—that's just what we need. More people."

"Sorry—we have a strict 'no villain' policy when it comes to Fight Club," Stiles calls to the older werewolf before deflecting Derek's arm, ducking and twisting it. "It's the second rule—right under 'no talking about Fight Club'." He frowns. "This isn't even a Fight Club…"

Jumping off her seat on Derek's desk where she'd been patiently waiting (and calling out sassy remarks to Stiles and Derek), swinging her legs, Lydia glowers at Peter. "You're not wanted."

"Have you ever heard of the saying 'forgive and forget', my dear Lydia?"

"Have you ever heard of the saying 'I will kick your ass from here to Timbuktu', Peter?"

"Okay, okay—Lydia, keep your fake fangs in, would you?" Derek turns to Peter. "What do you want?"

"Can't I come and see my favourite nephew without having an otherwise evil agenda?" Spreading his hands out in a gesture of innocent peace, Peter smiles nicely as Derek snorts.

"No," Stiles and Lydia say simultaneously as Derek replies, "I'm your _only_ nephew."

"Trifles." Peter waves a hand and walks in the loft.

Gripping Lydia's hand, Stiles shoots her a swift comforting smile—it's his _"you'll be okay,"_ smile she realises—and says, "So what do you actually want? Other than world domination—,"

"Stiles, let me do the talking," Derek interrupts. "I'm more intimidating than you."

"Actually, I can be very intimidating—especially when I'm, you know, facing down werewolves and fighting you—,"

"Stiles. Stop talking."

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So Peter's in the Fight Club.

"He needs to be initiated—," Stiles begins.

"No," Derek says.

"He needs to have at least one kick in the—," Lydia begins.

"No," Derek says.

Stiles and Lydia both glower. Derek sighs. "He'll be getting pizza every day?"

So Peter's in the Fight Club.

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"So, um, where is Scott?" Lydia asks.

"I think he said something about going to his dad's for the weekend." Derek rubs his head.

"Oh, that's nice," Peter comments.

"Yeah. Oh, behind you." Lydia nods.

Derek spins around, snaps a werewolf's head and throws it in the opposite direction as far as he can. He nods his thanks towards Lydia who kicks at another werewolf's legs and surges in front of Stiles, overpowering the werewolf that would have mauled him. Stiles takes down the werewolf gunning for her, striking three swift punches to the jaw and there's a satisfying crack that echoes around the woods.

"Okay," he says. "How are you all so calm right now? This is terrifying—I'm pretty sure I'm going into cardiac arrest."

"Would you calm down—behind you," Peter says but he rolls his eyes and pushes himself in front, ripping out a few jugulars.

Stiles blinks. "You saved my life."

"You can give me my thank you kiss later." Peter scrunches his nose up and glances towards Lydia who is punching a werewolf a little too viciously. "Or maybe never."

"I'll go with never," Stiles says before snap-kicking a werewolf in the face.

And then the tables are quite literally turned.

The four suddenly have their backs pressed against each other as the wind roars at them and the branches do their best to scratch them. Peter darts a worried look towards his nephew and the circle tightens. The rogue werewolves who ambushed them come in closer and Stiles can feel Lydia's breath hitching. She's pressed so close to him and it's just so _typical_—the girl he's been in love with for forever only comes close to him when they're just about to die. But it's not that.

Lydia presses herself closer to Stiles and whispers, so soft only the three around her can hear, "Did you guys know that I can scream into ultrasonic?"

_Smart_ girl.

"Does that mean dogs can hear you?" Stiles smiles slowly as Lydia nods. "You know, I feel like we should test out that theory—,"

Peter and Derek glance at each other. "It'll affect us, won't it?" Derek mutters as Peter says, "We could run—leave the humans behind as a distraction?"

"Dude," Stiles says as Derek digs his elbow into Peter's side, "your plan _sucks_."

There's a rumbling growl from a werewolf.

A sighing Peter rubs his face. Side effects of being in Beacon Hills / Fight Club, he supposes. You have your life hanging in the balance every school day. Derek looks towards his uncle and they both nod before simultaneously pressing their hands to their ears.

"Let it rip, Lydia."

Lydia Martin, the banshee, _screams_.

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"This is good pizza." Stiles hands Lydia the napkins and she rolls her eyes before dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

"It should be," Peter grumbles. "I paid for it."

Derek smiles. There's a sudden bright flash and Stiles and Lydia are crowing over their victory; iPhones in hand and high-fiving each other. "This just in!" Stiles crows. "Derek Hale smiles—what's next, Martin?"

"I feel like we should be on the lookout for more miracles, Stilinski—what if he actually _laughs_?" Lydia pretends to gasp.

"Teenagers," Peter mutters under his breath as he chews on his pizza slice but there's still a(n albeit small) smile still playing about his lips. "So immature."

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**fin**


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